


the ghosts that call you home

by earlgrey_milktea



Series: milktea's saso2017 fills [10]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Apple Pie, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Quiet, conversations about ghosts, liminal laundromat au, liminal spaces
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 11:58:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11104125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgrey_milktea/pseuds/earlgrey_milktea
Summary: kise meets kuroko in a liminal laundromat in the dead of night.(and again.and again.)





	the ghosts that call you home

**Author's Note:**

> original prompt thread [here](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/21522.html?thread=10618130#cmt10618130)
> 
> i'm actually quite proud of this one (:

It’s late when Ryouta decides to do laundry. The streets are quiet, as it should be. He strolls down the block, counting his steps as he goes, pretending he’s the only one left in this whole world. 

It’s nice. So unlike the busy colours and endless noise of his days.

There’s a laundromat sits a block away, tucked into the corner between a flowershop and a cafe. It’s the only place open this time of night. Ryouta stands before the sliding doors, allowing the florescent lights and air conditioning to wash over him. He steps inside.

The inside of the laundromat is empty, as it should be. Only one other machine was turning. Ryouta dumps his clothes into the second-to-last washing machine on the right, and settles onto the bench in the middle, watching it spin.

“Hello.”

It takes Ryouta a second to realize that voice isn’t part of his imagination. He jerks his head up. The person standing before him is unassuming, pale-skinned, messy hair like he just rolled out of bed, and cool blue eyes. If they weren’t the only two people in the room, Ryouta’s eyes probably would have slid off and forgotten about the guy already.

“Sorry,” the guy says, not sounding sorry at all. “My bag is under your seat.”

Ryouta glances down, and sure enough, there’s a nondescript black duffel under the bench. He could have sworn it wasn’t there before. But it’s late, and he’s had a long day, and the gentle whirring of the machines seem to suspend time and space. 

“Here,” Ryouta says, handing the bag over. “Didn’t notice you.”

“It’s okay,” is his reply, “I’m used to it.”

And that’s his first meeting with Kuroko Tetsuya.

 

 

 

 

Ryouta goes to the laundromat four days later. It’s still late, and this time, two machines are running. He throws his clothes into the washer, and slumps over on the bench.

“Long day?” a voice says beside him.

Ryouta doesn’t even have to energy to jump. He looks over and finds Kuroko sitting there, a book in his hands. “How does a person have this low of a presence?”

Kuroko offers him a shrug.

“I had two photoshoots today,” Ryouta says. “One of them involved other models.”

“Did you not like the other models?”

“Oh, no, they were fine. It just takes longer, trying to coordinate more people.”

“I’m imagine so.”

“Yeah, but I’m used to it.” Ryouta shoots the other his usual charming smile. “That’s why I’m Japan’s number two model!”

“Really?” Kuroko says, voice politely flat. His gaze is already back on his book. “Better work harder to be number one, then.”

Ryouta clutches his chest. “You’re mean, Kuroko.”

Kuroko hums, and Ryouta goes back to watching the spin cycles, listening to the low buzz of the machines and the occasional flip of Kuroko’s book.

 

 

 

 

It takes about two weeks, four visits, before Ryouta becomes used to Kuroko’s lack of presence. He manages to spot the other boy before Kuroko greets him. Ryouta counts this as a personal victory.

He realizes he rather likes these late night meetings. Kuroko doesn’t talk much, but when he does, Ryouta finds himself hanging onto every word. There’s a dry humour the other possesses that Ryouta can’t seem to get enough of. Sometimes they make small talk about each other’s day, sometimes they just sit in each other’s company and watch the clothes spin. Kuroko’s a good listener. Ryouta hasn’t realized he’s needed that.

When he leaves the laundromat what seems like hours later, the night is still thick, still silent. It’s almost as if no time has passed at all. He walks home with clean clothes on his back and the imprint of calm blue eyes in his mind.

 

 

 

 

“What are you writing?” Ryouta asks one night, and Kuroko looks up from the notebook in his hands, surprised.

“A story.”

“Oh, come on.” Ryouta pouts. “You can give me more than that.”

Kuroko glances back down at his neat and perfectly straight scrawl. “It’s a ghost story, I suppose,” he says. “Two strangers meet in an empty laundromat in the middle of the night.”

“Okay, now you’re just being mean to me.”

“But it really is a ghost story.” Kuroko taps his pen on the paper. “I’m wondering what it really means to be a ghost, I guess. If you linger in someone’s mind even when you’re not there, can that be called a haunting?”

Ryouta doesn’t have an answer.

He listens to Kuroko talk about his story long after the machines slow to a stop. When he leaves, Kuroko still sits there, scribbling away in his notebook. When Ryouta wakes the next morning, his clothes are back in his closet. He thinks about a quiet boy alone in a laundromat with blue, blue eyes, and shivers.

 

 

 

 

Ryouta’s run out of clothes to wash, so he drags his bedsheets with him. Kuroko greets him from the bench. 

“Kise-kun, would you like some pie?” Kuroko asks when Ryouta sits down. “I have a friend that likes to bake, and he gave this to me today.”

Ryouta is technically on a diet, but when Kuroko opens the cute little container, the sweet aroma tugs a small growl out of his stomach. He accepts the piece Kuroko hands him.

“This isn’t as sweet as I expected,” he says.

“Yes, Kagami-kun is quite into healthy cooking.”

Time passes strangely as they eat their pie. The machines in front of them spin and spin and spin, and Ryouta thinks about the yearning fidgeting in his chest. He thinks about how during the day, in front of the cameras and makeup artists, his mind has always been here, in an empty laundromat with an unsuspecting boy that seems to wait for him to arrive. It’s just the two of them. It’s always just the two of them. He’s opening his mouth before he can think it through.

“Kuroko,” he says, and stops.

“Yes, Kise-kun?”

He looks over to find familiar blue eyes, as neutral and politely curious as usual, and he swallows. The taste of cinnamon apple lingers on his tongue.

_ Do you think of me like I think of you? Do I haunt you like you do me? Are you just a dream out of my lonely nights? Are you real? Are you real? _

Out loud, Ryouta says, “Ah, send my compliments to your friend. I haven’t had such a good pie in a long time!”

“I will. Thank you, Kise-kun.”

The next morning Ryouta opens his eyes in his own bed, feeling like he’s been lost in a very long dream. His bedsheets are clean.

 

 

 

 

He doesn’t have any clothes to wash this time. Instead, he fiddles with the envelope in his hands as he steps into the laundromat.

Kuroko is in the exact same place like he always is. He lifts his head to give Ryouta the same slight smile he always has.

“Kuroko,” says Ryouta. “This is for you.”

“Oh,” Kuroko says, taking the envelope. “What is it?”

“I have a show coming up soon. They gave me free tickets like usual, and you said you’ve never been to a fashion show before, so I thought. I thought maybe, you’d want to come...”

The usually soothing spinning of the machines suddenly sound grating to Ryouta. He stands in front of the bench, and feels only a tenth of his six feet and then some height.

Kuroko sets aside his notebook and stands. He presses the envelope back into Ryouta’s hands, and Ryouta feels something in his heart drop. “I’m sorry, Kise-kun. I think it’s better if you give these tickets to someone else.”

“But—” Ryouta swallows the childish whine. “Are you sure?”

“I know nothing about fashion.”

“That’s fine! It’s really more of a social event—”

“I’ll just feel out of place, Kise-kun.” Kuroko’s eyes soften. “Thank you for inviting me, regardless. It’s nice to know you think of me.”

Ryouta stares down into endless blue eyes, and hears his thoughts flutter restlessly.  _ Of course I think of you. I think of you so much I’m afraid if I stop, I’ll forget you. _ “Well,” he says brightly, “it was worth a shot! Maybe next time, then.”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll see you, Kuroko.”

“Goodnight, Kise-kun.”

Ryouta doesn’t go back for the longest time. His dirty laundry starts to pile up.

 

 

 

 

It’s late when Ryouta finally lugs his clothes to the laundromat. The lights are as bright as he remembers, the machines quietly humming. There’s a lightening to his chest, like he’s been wandering out in the streets for so long, and now he’s finally coming home.

“Kise-kun.”

Ryouta shuts the dryer, and turns. Kuroko stands in the front of the room, automatic sliding doors gliding shut behind him. His eyes bore into Ryouta’s, and Ryouta hides a shiver. He’s forgotten how impossibly blue those eyes are.

“Hey, Kuroko. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Kuroko doesn’t answer. He places his bag onto the bench and crosses it in a few quick strides. He stops in front of Ryouta, peers up at him with an unreadable expression.

“I finished my story,” he says.

“Oh, that’s great! How did it—”

“Are you afraid of ghosts?”

Ryouta closes his mouth. He blinks. Kuroko doesn’t. 

“No,” he replies eventually.

“Good,” whispers Kuroko, and then his eyes seem to grow larger and larger until all Ryouta can see is blue. “I’ll let you read my story some time.”

Kuroko’s lips taste a little like cold apple pie.

 

 

 

 

Ryouta stares at the dark night outside his window. His laundry basket is empty. 

It’s late when he decides to hear that ghost story.

**Author's Note:**

> @puddingcatbae on tumblr and twitter


End file.
